


Let Freedom Ring

by crystallopianqueen



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Army, Avengers Feels, Dark, Eventual Happy Ending, Execution, Feels, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Song Lyrics, Tragedy, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystallopianqueen/pseuds/crystallopianqueen
Summary: Two-shot inspired by Chase Holfelder's rendition of "My Country 'tis of Thee" sung in a minor key.Hydra rises from the ashes, and then comes Earth's darkest hour. Well, maybe not Earth's, but certainly Peter Parker's.Song fic"But my body knows. It knows each breath, each beat of my heart, each step brings me closer and closer to the end.To my end."





	1. My Country 'tis of Thee

**Author's Note:**

> Highly recommend that you listen to Chase Holfelder's minor key rendition of "My Country 'tis of Thee" before or during the reading of this fic. It is a two parter, so don't worry. This is a dark fic. You have been warned. ;)

_My country, 'tis of thee,_

_Sweet land of liberty,_

_Of thee I sing;_

_Land where my fathers died,_

_Land of the pilgrims' pride,_

_From ev'ry mountainside_

_Let freedom ring!_

_..._

_My country; 'tis of thee_

...

My limbs are leaden, my feet dragging and shuffling against the ground, every part of me so ridiculously heavy, it's like gravity has increased tenfold. The thick, metal cuffs welding my wrists together certainly don't help.

With every step, I can hear the beat of a mighty drum, the reverberations so loud, so deep, so final, I can feel it in my bones. The beat quickens with each reluctant step, and it's then I realize that it isn't a distant percussion.

It's the beat of my heart.

I can't seem to catch my breath. It comes in short, shallow inhales through my nose, and it takes every effort not to open my mouth beneath my mask and start gasping like a drowning man. But my body knows. It knows each breath, each beat of my heart, each step brings me closer and closer to the end.

To _my_ end.

The thought sends an uncontrollable tremor through my entire body, and my weak fingers curl into tight, shaking fists to try and hide it.

To their credit, the guards marching behind me don't laugh. They don't mock me. They don't say a single word. They just keep marching steadily, the sound of their boots hitting the floor echoing loudly across the narrow, dimly lit tunnel. It's disturbingly rhythmic, and I wonder briefly how they can keep their unfaltering pace with me limping so pathetically in front of them.

I should say something snarky. Witty quips have always been my go to, the constant stream of puns or mocking insults the perfect disguise for whenever my nerves get the better of me. No better time than right now. But the words don't come.

And so I keep trudging on.

A feeble, mean spirited voice inside of me points out that I could at least try and fight back. But there is no point in resisting, no point in turning around and attacking my guards and trying to make a run for it. My weak, battered body barely has the strength to keep walking forward. And the cuffs on my wrist are laced with the same technology that powers Black Widow's electrified gauntlets. One wrong move, and a white hot current will shoot through my body and send me sprawling and convulsing on the ground. Then my guards will just grip me by my shoulders and drag me forward anyways. And I am not going out there being dragged like a sack of potatoes. I'm going out there on my own two feet.

The guards are being merciful enough to leave me some semblance of dignity on my death march. I'm not going to screw that up. They've allowed me to put my suit back on, and my mask, tattered as both of them are. And they're letting me walk. It's something, I suppose. At least I'll go out like a hero, instead of just being shot in my cell to be dumped in a hole somewhere.

Shit, this is beyond messed up.

Merciful. I'd just described the people who'd captured me, beaten the shit out of me, and who are about to execute me, _merciful_. Geez, Parker. Get a grip.

There's a door at the end of the tunnel.

_... Sweet land of liberty ..._

My insides seem to clench together, to tuck in on themselves as it gets closer and closer, as it looms ominously like something out of a nightmare. The beat of my heart is too fast for me to count as it thunders against my ribs.

Oh god.

This is real.

This is really happening. They're going to kill me.

I'm...I'm going to _die_.

Panic slams into me with the force of a tsunami, and my limping feet are suddenly too heavy for me to lift. My skin is too hot; it's prickling and going numb, and I'm rooted to the spot, something dragging me down, down, down, and I can't breathe—

Something hard presses against my back. The butt of a large assault rifle, prodding me forward. But I _can't_. I can't move. My instincts have completely taken over, feet away from the door, where beyond it, they will— _I_ will—I _can't_ —

 _You can._ The voice in my head is steady, assured, with just a trace of something gentle and understanding. It sounds an awful lot like Captain America. _You can do this. Keep your head up, son. Keep that back straight. Show them they haven't won. Show them they haven't beaten you. Show them that you're an Avenger._

_Show them that you're Spiderman._

My inhale is sharp, ragged beneath my mask, and my right foot drags forward.

I'm Spiderman.

The pressure of the gun digging into my lower back vanishes, and I take another limping step.

I'm Spiderman.

The door opens with a thundering, echoing clang, bright light blinding me as it swings back with a loud, metallic creak that scrapes across my eardrums.

I'm Spiderman.

My eyes had squeezed shut from the light, but I force them back open, blinking rapidly and letting my lenses adjust as I cross over the threshold. It takes every effort to swallow back the frightened tears, to hide any sign of weakness as I limp onward. It takes every effort to keep my chin raised, my shoulders back, even though the multitude of bruises and lacerations covering my body makes me want to curl in on myself and collapse. Concrete stairs rise up in front of me, and beyond it, just above, I can see mottled gray and white clouds.

Figures. The sun couldn't even be bothered to show up.

Step by step, I haul myself up the stairs, my ears picking up nothing but the sound of footsteps and the sharp whistling of the wind. I keep my eyes down as I walk, wary of my unsteady legs, and when I finally reach the top, and my eyes lift to sweep over the raised, cement platform and what lies just beyond it, my breath halts in my lungs, my heart stutters, and my stomach drops somewhere beneath my feet.

Oh my _god_.

At the back of the platform on either side of me is a line of decorated, uniformed officers and several men in suits. Guards stand at attention on both ends, and waiting in the dead center with his arms clasped behind his back, is the head of Hydra, Red Skull. Beyond the raised dais are endless rows of black clad soldiers. I swallow thickly as my eyes scan across the gathered army, the men frozen in their identical stances, a sea of menacing statues with every eye fixed on me.

Through my terror, I feel a bizarre urge to laugh.

An army. We'd been trying to take on a freaking _army_.

It had seemed totally possible, completely doable when we were huddled in that warehouse, coming up with plans and schemes. We were superheroes. We were the Avengers.

We were _screwed_.

...

_Of thee I sing_

...

Four weeks ago, Captain America had taken a team to the jungles of Wakanda in response to the distress signal sent directly to Mr. Stark, and to the sudden lack of communication going in or out of that country immediately after.

I'd wanted to go. A mission with the big guns of the Avengers? A trip to Wakanda? It was too good to pass up.

But Mr. Stark had made two things very clear. One: I wasn't an Avenger. I'd said no, and this was beyond my skills and utter lack of real training. Two: with so many team members heading for the jungle, they needed eyes on the ground in New York. The city still needed protecting, and should the worst happen, there needed to still be a few of us to face any new threat, or the unknown threat in Wakanda, if Cap's team failed.

So I stayed.

And then Hydra struck.

It had been easy to have hope, to believe we stood a chance, when Hydra had first unveiled just how deeply it had infiltrated the government, the World Protection Agency, the United Nations. When it had occupied D.C., New York, and sent massive helicarriers across the country to continue establishing its dominion.

That hope had faltered when we got news that the quinjet carrying the Avengers to Wakanda had been blasted out of the sky before it could even reach the Wakandan border. But they were the Avengers. I couldn't believe that something had taken them out that easily.

Even when those of us who had stayed behind had rallied together to form a resistance, which I never even had the chance to geek out about, I'd still believed that the rest of the Avengers would show up at one of our safe houses, one of the many hiding places we'd concocted across the occupied city.

They hadn't.

Steve. Mr. Stark. Natasha. Wanda. Vision. Bucky.

Gone. Without a trace.

...

_Land where my fathers died_

...

Still, I'd held onto the scraps of my hope as the rest of us fought on. Rhodes had taken over as leader. He'd had the most military experience. Sam, Clint, Scott, and I had followed him without a second thought.

And then I'd gotten myself captured.

Now, as I stand beside Hydra's leader, the man Cap had fought against himself so many years ago, as I see the entirety of the army we'd naively believed we could stand against…my hope shrivels up and dies.

Hands grip my shoulders and shove me down.

My knees slam into the hard, unforgiving cement, sending sharp waves of pain reverberating through my already battered body. But the only sound I make is a slow intake of breath as my upper body sways slightly.

Johann Schimdt steps forward, the man, the monster who Cap had fought in the forties. He'd disappeared. Been presumed dead. In my experience, which admittedly was mostly just comic books, films, and an unhealthy amount of Netflix, no one should ever presume a psychotic evil villain is dead. Double-tap, people. It's not that hard.

I don't even know how he came back. I don't know how Hydra was able to get this...huge, when so many were keeping tabs on them and taking out bases until only the scraps of the terrorist organization remained. I don't know how they infiltrated the government or took down Wakanda or possibly destroyed the majority of the Avengers. All I knew then, was that I was going to fight against them, to do my best to stop them and save innocent lives.

All I know now, is that I'm about to die for it.

When I was captured, I'd been locked in a cell, interrogated about the remaining Avengers, and when I wouldn't cooperate, they'd beaten and pummeled me. I'd been grateful none of them were particularly creative. It was mostly fists and boots.

Then Johann Schmidt had entered the room.

I knew who he was. Had seen his horribly disfigured face in my history textbook, in the case files I'd sort of hacked into at the Avenger's facility. But seeing something in a book and seeing it in real life were completely different. I'd taken one look at him and asked him what kind of name was Johann Schmidt. I'd also commended him for his originality with the moniker Red Skull.

He'd been much more creative when he hurt me.

He stares at me now, his pale eyes stark against the deep crimson of his face, before he turns to the massive army before him. It's only then I realize that there are cameras stationed at every corner, and huge screens on either side of the platform, projecting his image.

Projecting mine.

Oh god.

Oh _god_. They're...they're going to broadcast it. Nausea writhes in my stomach, and I have to swallow the bile rising up in my throat. Sam, Clint, Scott, Rhodes...Ned and MJ and Aunt May...they'll all be able to watch it...to see…

"Today marks the end and the beginning," Red Skull's voice echoes, breaking the silence with all the subtlety of a hurricane. "The ending of primitive weakness, of mortal men. And the beginning of the age of gods. No longer will this planet stand divided, poised to tear itself apart. From this day forward, we shall stand united, a world without nations, without flags, without those too weak to survive in it."

He turns to me, and I inwardly cringe in horror as the cameras pan to me as well. Red Skull moves closer, now standing right beside me as he continues. "Today, you will bear witness to what happens to the ones who stand against us, to the ones who are not worthy of a place in this new world."

His gloved fingers press against the top of my head before curling to grip my mask.

No, please no. Not this-

I only have one second to make sure my expression betrays none of my fear, my hopelessness before the fabric is sliding across the skin of my face, catching briefly on the dried blood across my cheek bone, before it is rustling against my hair.

Then it's gone.

The icy, bitter wind whips against my cheeks, and it is suddenly both much easier, and much harder to breathe. I feel naked, vulnerable, exposed in a way I hadn't known I could feel as my mask is removed and my face revealed to my enemies, to the world.

I set my jaw, lift my chin, and glare as fiercely as I can into the triumphant eyes of the Red Skull.

...

_Land of the pilgrims pride_

...

I won't let Aunt May see how afraid I am. I won't let my friends see me break before this monster. I won't let them down. Even without the mask, I am more than Peter Parker. I am Spiderman.

And maybe, just maybe...my death will serve a purpose. Maybe there will be someone out there who watches this, who sees me face down the entirety of Hydra without fear, without regret. Maybe the end of my life will be a spark to start the flame, for an entire resistance to rise up against Hydra.

My image on the screen is a different person, a hero battered and bruised, but unafraid of death, instead of the truth, instead of the terrified kid that I really am.

"Any last words, Mr. Parker?"

I'd thought of a million of them. Thought of stealing some of the best lines from the heroes of my favorite movies. Thought of just telling him to go to hell and trying to seem braver than I was. Thought of using the opportunity to tell Aunt May that I loved her, to say goodbye to my friends, to tell the remaining Avengers, if they were watching, that it wasn't their fault.

But the words die in my throat at the sight of the gleaming pistol in his hand.

...

_From every mountainside_

...

Cold metal presses against my temple, and I stiffen, my shackled fists clenching so tightly, there is no hiding their shaking.

I'm sorry, May. I'm _so_ sorry.

Please, _please_ , let her not be watching this.

Please look away.

Don't watch.

Please.

I flinch slightly at the loud, jarring click by my ear. I take a deep, shuddering breath, lifting my chin higher, staring right at the soldiers with what I hope is an undefeated, valiant expression.

May, please look away.

I hear the shifting movement as Red Skull's finger presses against the trigger.

My body betrays me, and a hot tear escapes from one of my eyes, cooling against my skin as the wind hits my face.

I'm sorry.

_Bang._

...

...

_Let freedom ring._

…


	2. Sweet Land of Liberty

_ My country, 'tis of thee, _

_ Stronghold of slavery, of thee I sing; _

_ Land where my fathers died, _

_ Where men man’s rights deride, _

_ From every mountainside thy deeds shall ring! _

  
...

_ My country, ‘tis of thee _

...

_ Bang.  _

I flinch violently, all of my muscles tensing and tightening in a terrified rush as noise explodes by my ear. Even my eyes squeeze shut, my body’s instincts rebelling against my will to remain stoic. 

I take a breath. Then another. 

I’m...not dead. 

My eyes open, my head turning to stare in complete shock at Red Skull. He’d staggered back a step, his eyes wide with incredulous fury. My gaze drops to his hand, where twisting tendrils of crimson light surround the pistol in his hand, blood dripping from his gloved fingers from the damage the gun had done in its recoil, the bullet likely lodged somewhere in the smoldering barrell. 

I whip my head to my left so fast pain shoots down my neck. At the other end of the platform, Wanda Maximoff emerges from the shadows, the wind snapping at her hair and jacket. Her irises gleam scarlet, her teeth are bared, and her fingers are twisting and curling at her sides, crimson light weaving around them. Her wrist jerks, and I hear a hiss of pain from Red Skull before the sound of heavy metal clattering onto the cement. 

She’s...alive.

She’s here. 

And if...if Wanda survived, then…

The Hydra guards lining the end of the platform behind her remove their masks, helmets, and jackets, letting them fall carelessly to the ground. 

Natasha, Bucky, Scott. 

My breath whooshes out of me in a rush as my throat tightens, suddenly drowning in relief and a resurgence of hope so potent, I sway. 

I look back at Red Skull, at the guards at the other end of the platform, their helmets and masks discarded as well. 

Sam. Clint.

_ Steve _ . 

His jaw is tight, his eyes are blazing, and he looks every inch the hero I’d always dreamed of becoming.

“Captain America,” Red Skull straightens, curling his injured hand into a fist that drips blood onto the cement at his feet. “I see you and your associates managed to survive.”

“We did more than that,” Steve counters darkly, not even sparing a glance at the armed officers at the back of the platform, or the entire army of soldiers, their guns now all raised towards us. “If you wanted the Avengers dead, you should have come after us yourself.”

“Apparently there was no need, Captain. All I had to do was threaten to kill one boy, and you’ve delivered yourselves right at my feet,” Red Skull’s lips curl over his white teeth. “When will you learn? You noble, self righteous  _ heroes _ , sacrificing your greatest chance to defeat me over one worthless life.”

“No life is worthless,” answers Steve, his jaw tightening.

“That belief is why you will lose. You, and what’s left of the Avengers.”

“Take another look,” Steve advises him, taking a step forward as he nods in the direction behind Red Skull. “We aren’t what’s left. They are.”

I jerk my head back forwards, towards the Hydra army as the gray, cloudy sky begins to waver and writhe. Massive Wakandan ships materialize above the soldiers, their camouflaging technology dissipating, and with it, an entire Wakandan ground force, surrounding everyone in sight. 

“Impossible,” Red Skull breathes to my right. 

“Tell that to their king,” shoots Natasha, and sure enough, as I squint, I can see a dark shape at the head of the Wakandan soldiers cresting the hill behind the Hydra army. The Black Panther. King T’Challa. Two silhouettes hover at his side. Vision. War Machine. 

“And one other thing…”

My heart seizes. 

There.  _ That  _ voice.  _ That’s  _ the one I’ve been waiting to hear. 

I look up, my stomach tightening as Ironman lowers himself to hover just beyond the platform in front of us, his glowing palm aimed straight at Red Skull. 

“Step away from the kid,” Mr. Stark commands in a voice low with rage. 

My shoulders sag, and I am dizzy, lightheaded, and there’s that bizarre urge to laugh again. 

They’re  _ all  _ alive

They’re all  _ here _ . 

And I’m not dead. 

Red Skull lets out a dark laugh that sends a warning chill slithering down my spine. “Bravo. I must say, your grand show of arms is most impressive. Now, let me show you  _ mine _ .”

…

_ Stronghold of slavery, _

...

My senses scream at me, loud and violent enough to lock up every muscle in my body. The earth begins to shudder beneath my knees, a deep, rumbling tremor accompanying the loud boom of noise, followed swiftly by the screeching grind of metal. 

I half turn, looking over my shoulder as my jaw drops in horror. 

Massive metal towers have risen from the Hydra compound at my back. Not towers, I realize with a jolt as they start to bend, their cylindrical forms extending slowly forward with a whir of sound. 

Cannons. Three of them, their barrels large enough to fit two fully grown men inside. Aimed straight at the Wakandan ships in the sky. 

Red Skull glares straight at Ironman, his teeth bared in a horrifying grimace. “Fire,” he commands, and then all hell breaks loose. 

I don’t know where to look, where to move as my senses are assaulted, overwhelmed by the clashing forces, the sudden explosion of sound. Fighting erupts around me in a dark, violent blur, and it quickly becomes impossible to tell friend from foe. And above it all, the growing crescendo of noise as the cannons charge, an aura of blue light sweeping over the battle. 

“Tony, the cannons-!”

“I  _ know _ , I’m-”

“Sam, on your left!”

It’s all happening too fast, too loud, too much, and I can’t--

A hand curls around my upper arm, fingers digging harshly into my flesh and yanking me upward onto my feet. My head snaps to the side, catching a glimpse of black body armor, a masked face, a gun--

My shackled hands curl into fists, and I swing my arms around and up, the thick metal cuffs slamming into the side of the Hydra soldier’s head so hard, his helmet cracks. He drops to the ground, and I stagger, the wounds littering my body screaming in pain from the movement. 

The air is vibrating, pulsing, charged with electricity as the whirring of the cannons drowns out all other noise, the blue light glowing brighter and brighter. 

I catch a glimpse of red and gold in the sky near them, and then the world explodes. The shockwave hits me first, so powerful it feels like a train barreling into my body, sending me crashing onto the cement platform. It’s followed by a flash of blinding blue light and deafening silence, my eardrums aching fiercely from the sudden, harsh absence of noise before a thunderous, ear-splitting boom cracks through the air. 

My eyes squeeze shut, but my bound hands don’t even have a chance to try and cover and protect my ears. Pain shatters through my skull, a gasp wrenching from me as I slowly pry my eyes open, blinking rapidly to clear the spots from my vision. My ears are ringing horrendously, a persistent, high pitched scream that stabs into my head. 

I try and sit up, leaning heavily on my forearms as I look around me. 

Oh  _ god _ . 

Fire and debris rains from the sky, showering down upon the clashing armies, soldiers from both sides scattering to avoid the destruction as others look on in horror. 

It had completely  _ obliterated  _ one of the Wakandan ships. 

…

_ Of thee I sing _

…

 

Blue light flares to my right, and I look up at the towering cannons, already charging once again. 

A face suddenly blocks my view of the massive guns, and I blink blearily up at him. He’s speaking to me, his hands gripping my shoulders tightly, but his voice is so muffled under the horrible ringing in my ears, I can’t make out his words. 

Clint’s brows knit together as he frowns, his gaze darting from my ears, then back to my face. Understanding dawns, and he holds up two fingers close to my eyes, then points at his mouth. 

_ Read my lips, _ he mouths, over exaggerating the movement of the words.  _ Do you understand? _

My head hurts too fiercely to nod, so I raise up my shackled hands and give him a thumbs up. 

_ Atta boy. Can you stand? Gotta get you out of here.  _

I answer with a grunt, and his hand moves to my lower back to help me as I sit up all the way. Clint shifts suddenly next to me, his hand squeezing my arm in warning before he releases his grip on me. He moves so fast, one second he is crouched beside me, bow on his back, the next, he’s on his feet, the weapon is in his hands, an arrow knocked and bowstring drawn taut. He fires off five arrows in rapid succession, and I watch, dazed, as Hydra soldiers fall to the ground. 

Clint’s hand is gripping my upper arm, pulling me quickly to my feet, his hand moving to my back to support me as I sway from the speed of the movement. 

The world is a violent blur around me, everything happening too fast, too chaotically, Clint’s hand the only thing steadying me, grounding me, as he leads me away. I have to keep my eyes on my feet as we move as fast as we can, my body staggering forward drunkenly as I try to get my bearings back. 

My spider-senses have been going haywire since the start of all this, so I almost miss the extra flare of warning that lurches my stomach, that causes the hair on the back of my neck to shudder. 

I look up, my eyes searching the chaos around me and finding nothing, until my gaze snags on a splash of bright crimson among the sea of black. 

Red Skull. 

A team of elite soldiers surround him, protecting him as he moves to the landing strip in the distance, to the armada of Hydra ships waiting there. But he had paused, his icy gaze boring into me as his white teeth are bared in a savage smile. 

I halt in my tracks, barely hearing Clint’s muffled question and order through the ringing in my ears. 

Red Skull holds something small and silver in his uninjured hand, and with a nod at me, he raises it in the air. 

Oh god. 

His thumb comes down upon it as I desperately shove Clint away from me just in time. 

_ Pain _ . 

It explodes in a burst at my shackled wrists, white hot energy shooting, spearing up my arms and into my chest, spreading across every nerve, every muscle and tendon. The pain halts the breath in my lungs, constricting my chest so tight I can’t even tell if my heart is still beating. 

My body goes rigid, muscles convulsing and constricting as I fall back onto the ground, my back arching as it keeps going and going and going--

I know. I know he’s not going to let up this time. He’s going to keep electrocuting me until my heart stops. Until it kills me. 

_ Pain-pain-pain _ \--

Can’t breathe-can’t think- _ can’t _ \--

It stops so abruptly, I think I black out for a minute, prickling gray and black darkness sweeping over me for a breathless, nauseating moment before I inhale sharply, raggedly. My chest heaves with the force of my breaths, and I can feel my muscles still spasming, twitching, but the pain is gone. It’s gone, and--

Clint is kneeling before me, his mouth in a hard line, his eyes blazing. My eyes drop to my clenched fists, freed from the metal shackles. I look on the ground to my left where they lay, a metal pronged arrow driven deep into the center of the cuffs, electricity still sparking off of it. 

“Thanks,” I croak. Or I think I do. I don’t hear the words come out of my mouth. 

Clint doesn’t wait for me this time. He just heaves me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, the pain of the sudden motion taking my breath away again. The world is spinning around me, so I close my eyes, too tired and in too much pain to be mortified that I’m being carted off like a civilian in the middle of a freaking war. 

…

_ Land where my fathers died _

_ … _

_ War, terrible war, _ my mind intones as the ringing in my ears slowly begins to subside, and the sounds of the battle begin to filter through; screams of pain, the high pitched whine of blasters, the thunderous booms of explosions and shots fired from weapons, orders being yelled over it all… 

Why does that phrase sound so familiar?  _ War, terrible war. _ Is that a movie quote? It is...but from what? I can hear the smooth baritone speaking the words in my head, but can’t place where I heard it. 

My body jostles painfully as Clint whirls, his shoulder digging into my stomach just below my rib cage. He ducks low as he races down a set of long, concrete stairs. 

_ War, terrible war _ …

The Hunger Games. That’s where it’s from. That’s President Snow’s voice I’m hearing in my head. Wait, am I in the Hunger Games? Does that mean Clint is Katniss? 

Oh god, does that make me Peeta?

Am I losing my mind? Going into shock? Or had I actually been shot on that platform and this is some weird limbo I’m trapped in?

The sounds of the battle fade, cool darkness enclosing around us, and I can hear Clint’s pounding footsteps echoing loudly against tunnel walls. Hey...I’m starting to hear things better. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?

“Don’t…” I murmur into his back. 

“Don’t what?” his voice still sounds off, like he’s farther away than he is, or like he’s speaking through a thick mask.

“Don’t...kiss me.”

Katniss was always kissing Peeta.

Clint snorts. “Wasn’t offering to, short stuff. Getting you somewhere safe.”

“Oh...ok,” my eyelids so heavy, I don’t think I could open them if I wanted to. A part of me is aching to return to the battle. Those are my friends out there. My friends who came to save me when I thought I was going to die. I should be helping them. I should be out there, risking my life alongside them. 

…

_ Where men man’s rights deride _

...

“Hafta...go back,” I mumble half heartedly. 

The rest of me is smarter than that small noble voice insisting I go out in a blaze of glory. My body is absolutely wrecked. I know I’d be more of a hindrance than a help. 

But worse than that...and maybe it makes me a terrible person, an even worse hero, but I...I’d rather face another round of torture than go back. All that chaos...all the smoke and fire and blood and death...it’s something not even my darkest nightmares could ever conjure up. It’s something I never want to witness or be part of ever again.

_ War, terrible war. _

“You did good, kid. You held down the fort for the rest of us. Now it’s our turn, ok? We’ll take it from here,” Clint replies, his voice getting quieter and quieter with each word. 

“Clint?”

“Yeah, Pete?”

“Sorry...fr gettin captured.”

Clint shifts his grip on me, the pain starting to dissipate into a cold kind of numbness. “Happens to the best of us. Tony actually has the highest D.I.D. count out of everyone.”

“D.I.D.?”

“C’mon kid, you know that one. Damsel in distress. Stark’s a pro at it. Sometimes I think he does it on purpose so we have to do all the work. Sneaky bastard.”

…

_ From every mountainside _

...

A small smile curves my lips. Exhaustion settles over me, warm now, and heavy, and the smile drops from my face. “He...was gonna...shoot me.”

I can feel Clint’s muscles tense beneath me, his grip on my arm and thigh tightening briefly. “I know.”

“Did I...did I look brave?”

Clint doesn’t speak for awhile, and I slowly start drifting until his voice, gruff and more choked than I thought it would be, finally replies. “It was the goddamn bravest thing I’ve ever seen. You put Cap’s best gallant smolder to shame.”

“...good,” I breathe, feeling my twitching, tense muscles finally relax. “Good.” 

And I go willingly into that quiet dark. 

 

…

_ Thy deeds shall ring. _

…

 

* * *

 

_ War, terrible war _ . 

The rattling of chains...a steady march. 

Naked, exposed, alone. 

_ “Any last words?” _

The barrel of a gun pressed against my temple. 

_ Bang _ . 

Fire raining down from the sky. 

The noise...the  _ screaming _ . 

My eyes shoot open, and I take the deepest, slowest breath I’ve ever taken, savoring it. I inhale through my nostrils, taking in every smell; the metallic tang of blood, of sweat, the harsh, sterile odor of steel and machinery, and...cologne? 

I frown as I release the breath. 

I’m on the quinjet, lying on one of the bolted in cots, a blanket draped over me. 

“You missed all the good stuff.”

I slowly turn my head to the side to gaze at Mr. Stark, seated on the nearest bench. His armor is gone, leaving him in a worn looking t-shirt and jeans, designer, I’m sure, and to be honest...he’s a disaster. His hair is sticking out every which way like he’s been running his fingers through it, and his face is a mess of dirt, sweat, and blood. Bruises line his arms, bloom across his knuckles, his hands folded over his knees as he leans forward. 

“The…good stuff?” I repeat hoarsely, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah. Cap taking on Red Hitler in the battle of the century, though, to be honest, I think I could have done better... Scott Lang finally deciding to start making himself useful and turn himself into Giant Man to help me take down those damn cannons...let’s see, what else? The Avengers completely wiping out Hydra’s forces, and a heroic rescue of multiple team members by yours truly. That about covers it.”

“Lies,” calls Clint from somewhere in the back. 

“Can’t you see the kid has been through enough? Quit spoon feeding him your bullshit,” Sam adds. 

“Did I or did I not single handedly save your asses when that elite force took you by surprise?” Mr. Stark half turns in his seat. “Rhodey, back me up here.”

“Colonel Rhodes isn’t in right now,” I hear a quiet, slightly slurred mumble. “Try again later.”

“Typical,” Mr. Stark mutters, turning back to me. “They’re just bitter about needing to be rescued.”

“I needed to be rescued,” I remind him. 

“That was different.”

I don’t see how, but...“So...we won?”

“We did. Hydra’s regime is no more,” Mr. Stark assures me, looking unbearably exhausted. “Now, we get to go home and sleep for a month. The U.N. can deal with the cleanup.”

It’s over, then. Really over. And we won. 

And I’m still breathing.

“Mr. Stark,” I hesitate, my heart beginning to pound, like it is still reminding itself that it’s still beating. “I can’t...I can’t thank you enough. All of you. For...you--if you hadn’t come when you did--”

“I know,” Mr. Stark’s entire demeanor has changed, his shoulders tight and slumped over, his face grim, and his eyes looking wearier than I’d ever seen them. “I’m...we tried. We tried to get to you sooner.”

“I just figured you were waiting for the most dramatic entrance you could manage,” I force my face into a smirk, but I think it comes off more like a grimace. Mr. Stark doesn’t smile at my light teasing. 

“If there had been any other way, any other opening...I promise you, kid, we never would have let it get that far.”

I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, my pained and sore body stiffening at the phantom feeling of icy metal pressing against the side of my head, the phantom echo of the gunshot blasting right by my ear. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his hand, steady and warm, resting against my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Thought...you were dead,” I focus on evening out my breaths, my eyes still unable to open. 

“It was a close thing. Then communications were down, and we had no way to contact your team. Not without Hydra finding out. They thought they’d succeeded in killing us. We didn’t want to dissuade them of that notion. Element of surprise and all that.”

“Was smart.”

“It was. It was a good strategy. Probably why we won. But I know every one of the miserable bastards on this jet regrets it.”

My eyes pry open. “Why?”

Mr. Stark has to look away from my face, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly as his hands reach up like he wants to take off his glasses and clean them, but drop back down as he realizes he isn’t wearing any. He coughs and forces a smirk onto his face instead.  “Nearly cost us our favorite mascot.”

I choke out an indignant splutter, even as warmth eases something in my chest. “ _ Mascot _ ?” 

“Well, you did say no to becoming an official Avenger. Not my idea. Mascot was the only vacant opening we had left,” Mr. Stark’s hands move to his pockets. 

“Mr. Stark? I think...after all this...I deserve a promotion.”

Mr. Stark’s lips curve into a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Despite myself, my eyes drift shut again. Sleep is calling to me, its warm tug becoming more insistent with each passing second. 

I find myself in that in between, that weightless, fuzzy space between asleep and awake, and I swear I feel a hand brushing back the hair from my forehead. Then I hear Mr. Stark’s voice one last time before I drift off, so soft, I might have imagined it. 

“You did good, kid. You did good.”


End file.
